As the TImes Change
by Moonlight Ashes
Summary: Sherlock finds himself feeling lonely now that John has married Mary Moristan, and as a result he finds himself making a new acquaintance, one that not only replaces his blogger, but fills a new piece of him he had long ago forgotten. First mature fic, but please do'nt be discouraged, I do need to know if it's any good or if I should just never write a smut again! Reviews are loved
1. Chapter 1

**Sherlock Fanfiction**

**Warning; I love making O.C's and this one just sort of popped up, so I couldn't resist using her.**

**My first mature fic, but please don't be discouraged, I have read a lot in preparation for writing mine. Please let me know what you think!**

**There isn't a lemon in this chapter but will be within the next one, please, have some class…there is more to a mature story than just the sex.**

**Stand By You**

Gwen Sutcliff was not in the mood for a party, she had resisted the urge to hang up on Stamford when he called and asked if she was attending the Deductive Science lecture at Bart's, a new experiment the law enforcement officers were looking into using in their attempt to better their criminal seeking tactics. Gwen had only been mildly interested in it, she knew what it was and what it entitled, but she highly doubted anyone could actually learn to deduce someone, that seemed like a talent that needed to be fine-tuned from birth. Whatever her opinion on the lecture, she was invited and it would be rude of the young doctor to refuse. After studying at Bart's, Gwen had taken to working in an upper London hospital, but hated every moment of its political game. While she was trying to stuff people's vital organs back inside them, her assistants were bickering over whether the man could pay, where his watch came from, and if he was single or married; none of which mattered if he died. As soon as a transfer came in she had booked it to lower London where gunshot victims, stabbings, and rape were a usual. She could deal with these wounds, with people who truly needed help from their suffering. She would rather look at the terror in a woman's eyes than the smug smirk of a rich boy asking her to clip his hang nail while a man lay dying in the bed next to him. Here she was needed, not loved or respected by any means, but her existence was obvious and necessary.

Stamford had pleaded his case, begging the young alumni to come in and take a night off to herself; too worn out to argue, she had consented. She knew there wasn't a chance in hell she'd enjoy herself, but nonetheless she decided to go out on a limb and dress for the occasion. Her long red dress was backless with a button in the back at the base of her neck. The skirt came down just below her knees in a conservative manner, she was dressing for doctors after all not playboys, and the black heels only made her five foot' three stature slightly taller. She looked in the mirror and was content with the way the dress fit to her full form. She wasn't skinny, not the way girls were nowadays, she wasn't obese, but instead that special margin between the two. She was a full bodied American girl with long naturally wavy brown hair, and dark aqua blue eyes; the kind that look as if God had dyed them the color of the ocean. With a sigh she looked away from the reflective glass and grabbing her bag on the way out, she left for the party she was determined to hate.

Sherlock Holmes did not intend to stay for the after party, he had intended to go in, give his lecture, and leave. John was supposedly moving out the next day, something about marrying the girl of his dreams or some stupid rubbish like that. Sherlock had intended to put a stop to that foolish idea, planning all sorts of ways to keep him from his engagement with Mary Moriston. Gluing his sweaters to their place in the drawers, hiding his laptop, drugging him, and then of course there was always locking him in the upstairs room of the flat. Sherlock had a plan, he was on his way to ruining the supposed engagement of his best friend and the stupid little woman he was attracted to, but those plans slipped from his hands when Lestrade grabbed his arm and drug him into the lobby where the room went up in a loud chorus of cheers to greet the man whom had inspired some and perplexed others. Sally Donovan stood off to the side in a slinky black dress, her eyes following Sherlock as they burned holes into his back. Anderson was likewise glaring from another part of the room and Sherlock swore he felt a few brain cells die with the man's presence.

It was Stamford that introduced him to the woman in red. A young doctor, recently transferred, one puppy, doesn't speak to her mother, father calls constantly, American, third class, probably from the West, a stress drinker, single, hasn't had a long term relationship in years, very few sexual partners, married to her work. He summed this all up before she even shook his hand, impressing himself only a little as he dubbed the woman an open book. He hadn't caught her name, didn't care to, and she didn't seem to care if he took it or not. In fact the woman looked bored, whether with the people around her or the function itself he couldn't tell, but he did notice her slightly wobble. At first he suspected her shoes, but the heel was rather short for her to be unsteady on her feet. The woman swayed a bit more before she excused herself, causing Sherlock's interest to pick up only slightly.

"You'll have to excuse her, Sher." Stamford apologized. "Gwen's been in the lower parts for a few months, long hours there."

"Why is a doctor from Bart's working in lower London?" He asked passively, still not entirely interested.

"She couldn't stand the Posh-people, as she calls them." Stamford chuckled. "Funny, that's where all the money is, but I guess that's an American for you. I'm wondering how she can afford her flat now, she was keeping one all by herself, but now that she's taken such a big pay-cut, she'll be looking for new accommodations I suspect."

"Hmm…" Sherlock hummed.

"Speaking of which, how are you taking John's uh…departure?" Stamford turned, his wine sloshing in its glass as he did so. "I bet you'll be best man, yeah?"

"…I have no intention of attending."

"What, you're not going to your best friend's wedding?"

"Weddings." Sherlock turned away in distaste. "Such stupid ceremonies."

Gwen made it back to her flat just in time to topple onto her bed, exhausted by the day's work, by the long lecture in which the presenter, some silly named fellow; Something Holmes, talked too fast, as well as by the after party she was forced to walk through. In the short time she had been there she was hit on twice, asked for her number by four men, three of which she suspected of being married, and was chatted up a dozen times in very unarticulated forms of language. She spoke American English, and she could have written a better opening line than "Sup, hoe." Sometimes she was tempted to write a book for men on how to approach women, God knew she had experience in what not to say. In the six years Gwen had lived in London she had only held three steady relationships; two of which cheated on her, and the other was secretly married. She tried to avoid relationships, but every now and then she needed to feel like a human, capable of feeling and giving pleasure. By no standards was she easy, she usually had to get really drunk just to think about going home with someone and even then she would usually dismiss her passing fancy for a night alone. The truth was, she was lonely, but she didn't want a quickie in the bar bathrooms, she wanted something meaningful. She was twenty six years old, a talented doctor with a bleeding heart, and all the skills of a loving housewife her mother had passed to her. Here she sat thinking it couldn't be that hard to attract a man…one who was loyal, only wanted her, who cared about having a future with her. With a sigh she fell asleep, a few lonely tears trailing into her pillow.

The morning brought a balm to Gwen's aching heart and she made her way through her morning routine. Showering, eating a toasted bagel with whatever jam she had left, feed her puppy, Gem, and leave for work. She was always worried as she left her apartment, or flat as they called it here, because she knew she couldn't stay there on her new paycheck as she was already having to combine her new check and some of her saving to pay for the month she was in now. She sighed and hailed a cab as her day began to unfold.

"Sherlock! Let me the hell out of here!" John yelled from his bedroom where Sherlock had stuck a chair under the doorknob. "Mrs. Hudson!"

"What's going on up here, boys?" Mrs. Hudson came scurrying into the room after hearing the yelling. Sherlock lay on the couch in his blue dressing gown and pajamas, completely ignoring the yelling that was going on upstairs as John tried calling for help as well as kicking in the door. "Sherlock," She cooed at the man. "Sulking and locking him up won't stop this, you know that."

"Mrs. Hudson!" John called again. The landlady gave an apologetic half smile as she went up the steps and moved the chair. John came bounding out of the room, not even stopping to thank the landlady as he made his way down to the living room and fixed Sherlock with a glare that made soldiers fall in line.

"You listen, you prat!" He declared. "I am moving out today! I am getting married in two months. You are either going to help me move, or sit there and watch me!" Sherlock didn't look the least bit moved by this speech as he stared at the ceiling. John sighed and shook his head as he finished gathering together his things.

"Oh, I don't like to see you boys fighting like this." Mrs. Hudson mumbled.

"It wouldn't be a fight if he'd just grow up." John declared.

"Oh, John." Mrs. Hudson tried to calm him. "He just doesn't want you to go, it's change dearie…he…" They both stopped when Sherlock stood and angrily stomped to his room, slamming the door with full force. "He hates change."

"Well that's too bad." John folded another box closed. "I don't want to spend my entire life chasing criminals who want to kill me, believing my best friend is dead, or being your pin cushion whenever you're bored or doing an experiment!" By now John was yelling down the hall at Sherlock's door.

"John, really…" Mrs. Hudson shushed. "You can't blame him. You put up with all of it for years, so don't say it's all Sherlock's fault."

"…Ugh!" John finally kicked the box he had folded aside. "Why can't he just…ugh, I just want to kill him some days!" John shook his head as he sunk into a chair. "Why can't he just be happy for me like other friends?"

"Because he's Sherlock Holmes, dear, he doesn't have friends. He's only got one." She patted the man's arm.

"What about Lestrade, Stamford?"

"You or I would call them friends, but Sherlock…well, Lestrade only calls when he wants something, and Stamford only speaks to him when he runs into him." She shrugged. "You should talk to him, talk, not yell."

"He's acting like a child." John sighed.

"He does that, but…" She glanced at John. "you already knew that." She winked as she left him to face the door alone. John sighed before he stood and knocked on the white door of his best friends room.

"Sherlock?" He called. "Look, would you just…please come out." He asked. The room was silent and he sighed once more. "Sherlock, I have to go…Mary is waiting, but…I'll come to visit. Just because I'm not living here anymore doesn't mean I won't be here at all. I'll come to visit you." The door flew open so suddenly John jumped back.

"You'll visit? Between your wedding plans? Your honeymoon? The children? Your Sunday brunches? Your distinguished little Doctor Watson family portraits?" Sherlock chuckled angrily now. "No, you don't fool me for a moment, Dr. John H. Watson, you're happy to go."

"Of course I am, I'm getting married!" John countered. "Sher, just be happy for me."

"Happy that you're marrying a stupid woman with the I.Q of a toilet seat?" He scoffed and John realized the man was now fully dressed to go out as he turned to the door. "Yes, I am happy for you, John. Enjoy your morning reading the newspaper, fighting your slippers away from the dog, picking out curtains for your parlor, and being recycled into the boring dull array of what you call life."

"Sherlock wait!" John called, but the front door slammed shut and the consulting detective was gone. The doctor sighed, but steeled himself as he gathered up the boxes he had packed and began to move out of 221B Baker Street.

"What do you mean it's infected?" the thug asked, his tongue moving over the syllables lazily when he spoke.

"I mean, you didn't clean it properly." Gwen dabbed at the wound. She was on loan at Bart's today and had been working in the Morgue when she was called upstairs to help in the emergency room for a bit. "If you cleaned it at all."

"Bitch, it's just a cut."

"Yes, from a serrated fishing knife." She mulled.

"How you know that?"

"It's not a puzzle, the cut is jagged and the length of the cut…you were cut with a serrated knife, I say fishing because you smell of the pier."

"I work there."

"Workplace accident? Lost focus? You look very tired." she asked. The man went silent as she finished the bandage. "A day or so off work if you can help it. The stitches are a little thin, don't get them wet. You have any problems with redressing the wound, come in and see us." She turned away just in time to have the man's arm looped around her neck, a small hand knife in his hand. The room exploded into panic as nurses screamed and the other patients stared in disbelief.

"What are you doing?" Gwen asked unamused.

"Can't pay the bill, you walk me out of here and you live, got it?"

"How about not." Gwen reached up and put just enough pressure on the wound to keep the stitches in place, but for the man to drop the weapon. She brought her head back into his nose, making him crumble back for two doctors to grab him and hold him as the police were called. "First mistake, you took on an American girl from the west with fighting experience, second you used your injured arm to hold my neck, third, and this one is the best, you were injured at work so the company you work for would have paid the bill, dumbass." She kicked the knife over to another nurse and waved as she made her way back to the Morgue.

"Bit of excitement upstairs?" Molly Hooper asked as she was rejoined by her temporary assistant. "I saw police lights through the basement windows."

"Not really, just some moron with a knife, same old same." She shrugged. She looked up when she heard a series of cracking sounds and turned to the mortuary. Molly jumped up.

"Oh, that's just Sherlock." She stated. "He comes in now and again to do experiments." She explained, and Gwen caught the jumpy rise in her voice and rolled her eyes.

She came to the observation window of the Morgue and halted, perplexed at what she saw. A young man in a trim suit had a body laid out on the table before him and he was beating it with a riding crop. She wasn't sure what to make of this, but a glance at Molly and she knew the girl wasn't going to question the man below them on what he was doing. She was a shy mousy girl, the kind men walked all over, no wonder she had nothing to say.

"Sherlock…Holmes? The Science of Deduction guy?" She suddenly remembered the name from the previous night.

"Yeah, he's brilliant." Molly swooned slightly and Gwen rolled her eyes as she turned on the microphone to the room.

"Excuse me." She tried to get the man's attention, but he was obviously ignoring her. "Hey! Knock it off!" she yelled and he finally halted to look up at the observation room.

"Could you possibly take that somewhere else, your voice is rather annoying." He stated. Gwen stared back.

"He does that." Molly explained as the man went back to beating the corpse. Gwen's temper was rising as she wandered down to the doors. "Really, he's not harming anyone!"

"Excuse me, Mr. Holmes?" Gwen breezed into the room. The man ignored her and she fumed as she reached up behind him and grabbed the crop from his hand, throwing it across the room as she did so. The man stopped and fixed an angry gaze on her. "I've heard of beating a dead horse, but this is crossing the line don't you think?"

"It's an experiment." He stated defiantly.

"And what exactly are you experimenting?"

"Bruise patterns on dead tissue."

"Mr. John Doe, here, has been dead for two weeks." Gwen stated. "Try again."

"…Molly who is this annoying woman?" Sherlock asked the mousy woman hiding in the doorway. "And why is she here?"

"This is Dr. Gwen Sutcliff, she's assisting me here today." Molly squeaked. "Nelson is out with a cold."

"Assisting, therefore not in charge." Sherlock stressed. "Molly, do you agree with my experiment?"

"…well, if this man has been dead that long…what would the…point…be….in" She grew fainter in her words as Sherlock fixed his glare on her.

"I suggest you leave now, Mr. Holmes." Gwen stated. Sherlock closed his eyes a moment, keeping his temper to a dull roar as he turned to retrieve his coat. "If you're that upset, perhaps you should go home. Go relax."

"Why would you think I'm upset?" He asked briskly.

"Your pulse is heightened." Gwen shrugged as she passed him. "Your face is red with keeping your temper in control, and the gaze you fixed on Molly had her scurrying for the hills."

"My pulse?" He paused. When she grabbed the crop from him, she had grabbed his wrist due to the height difference. It was brief, but in such a short moment it was easy for her to find he was angry. She gave him a playful smirk as she let herself out. "Molly." Sherlock turned to the younger woman. "That woman, she went to school here?"

"Yes, graduated a year before me." Molly answered. "She was going to start her own practice, but decided she was of better use in a hospital." She paused. "Gwen really is a nice girl, once you get under her mask anyways. She's got a sweet heart, but a nasty temper when it rears its head."

"Thank you, Molly." Sherlock nodded as he left the Morgue.

"I told you no." John stated into the phone. "I'm not helping you on any more cases, I'm not chasing criminals, and I'm not…"

"Are you afraid to get shot at?"

"That's not funny, Sher." John sighed, as he unpacked a box of books. "Why do you want me to go to this hospital? It's in the lower London area; can't I just go to Bart's to get what you need?"

"What I'm interested in isn't at Bart's." He stated.

"Ok, what am I getting? And don't ask for drugs, the last time I..."

"Not drugs, just listen. There is a doctor there, Gwen Sutcliff, I need you to find out what you can about her."

"You have a computer."

"She isn't anyone important."

"Use Lestrade."

"He's not answering my texts."

"Mycroft?"

"Take that back."

"Ok ok, who is she?"

"Just a woman of interest."

"…what, I'm sorry, my ears…you're interested in a woman?"

"Not that sort of interest." He stated. "She's one of Stamford's gremlins, one that I don't know."

"…and that bothers you?"

"Knowledge is power."

"Right. Whatever, just gimme an hour or so."

"Now." The phone hung up and John groaned. Moving out hadn't made being Sherlock's gopher any easier. He waited only a moment and dialed a number he had memorized.

"Yes, Mycroft? I have a favor to ask…for Sherlock. Yes, you can charge him as you like."

Gwen entered her office out of habit with her files open and still reading as she flipped on the light. She barely had time to register the man that sat at her desk before giving a slight jump. Mycroft was not exactly impressed with the girl so far, but he had to say Sherlock had good eyes. The woman was obviously still quiet young, but she had her own office in the hospital trauma wing so she had to have leadership skills as well as a strong stomach to be here. She didn't have any photographs, an only child not speaking to her parents. She wasn't a bad looking woman either, full hips, thin legs, full lips, healthy physique. The man stood as she gained her composure and came into her office further.

"Can I help you?" She asked.

"I don't believe so, but I think I can help you, Miss Sutcliff." Mycroft smiled when she quirked an eyebrow.

"May I have my desk back?" She asked. He nodded and scooted away from her seat for her to take it back. "Now…who are you and what can you help me with?"

"Who I am isn't important right now."

"I believe it is." she gave a cocky smile, definitely American.

"…Mycroft Holmes, if you must know." He stated, surrendering. "I believe you know my brother, Sherlock?"

"Does everyone in your family have such strange names?" She asked and Mycroft gave a soft smile. "Yes, I met Sherlock."

"And?"

"…He's an ass." She stated, working through files as she spoke. "I had to rip a riding crop from his hands to get him to stop harassing a corpse. I had to chase him out of the morgue so as he'd stop distracting my fellow doctor."

"Miss Hooper?"

"Yes." She stated, looking up. "Obviously, she lets him do what he wants in there. I had to ask him to leave."

"Why?"

"He was annoying me." She was honest, he gave her that. "He has an attitude that I don't like."

"You have to understand, Miss Sutcliff." Mycroft went on. "No one ever takes Sherlock's toys away. In fact, most of the time we are shoving them on him to keep him quiet."

"…what is he a thirty year old child?" She asked.

"Precisely." Mycroft smiled. "A child who seems to have taken an interest in you."

"An interest?" Gwen scoffed and lifted an eyebrow. "We've met twice, once we shook hands, and once me yelling at him."

"Children often form bonds with the governess that tells them no the most." Mycroft shrugged.

"Yes, but he's a grown man, a consulting detective, not a child."

"I see you are interested in him too." Mycroft smirked. Gwen glared. "In any case, I went out of my way to bring you this." He set an envelope on her desk. "His birthday is in a week, I believe that is enough time to decide whether to go or not. It's at our family estate, a bit of a drive, but well worth it if you are interested."

"Why exactly are you inviting me to your brothers party?"

"…because, no matter what he may think, I am interested in my brothers happiness. I believe if you were to go he'd be sufficed for the night and not make a fool of himself in front of our mother."

"…so you're sending me in to babysit? I hardly know the guy."

"Sherlock can be a gentleman when given the right motivation." Mycroft smiled and gave her a nod of farewell as he left.

"Why exactly did mother want this out here?" A grumpy Sherlock asked. Mycroft greeted guests as they came in and left a gift on the table to which Sherlock was supposed to thank them, but most of the time he ignored them.

"The family estate is a symbol of…"

"Wasted money on horrible interior decorating?"

"…pride in one's family lineage." Mycroft glared at the man. "Please, just tonight, behave like your age and pretend to have fun. Mother is watching."

"She's not watching me, she's looking for women to shove at me." Sherlock mumbled as he eyed his mother who gossiped with a crowd of girls, pretending to be interested in the conversation. "Pathetic."

"Oh, look at this." Mycroft smiled smugly when he saw Miss Gwen Sutcliff walking up the steps, obviously still trying to decide whether to go in or run back to the cab. She held a rectangular present in her arms, obviously prepared, though not mentally. Her gown was a long cut with a corset back and thin straps. The collar dipped a little but not in an unflattering or scandalous way. It started dark blue and trailed off to a lighter shade towards the bottom of the skirt, a flattering color for her eyes and hair. Mycroft was proud of himself, now if he could just get the woman inside and in Sherlock's line of sight. "Miss Sutcliff!" He called. The woman whipped around and gave a timid smile as she started up the stairs, eyes following her unfamiliar face as she approached the men.

"Sutcliff?" Sherlock stared. Gwen approached them and offered her hand when Mycroft held his out. A soft peck on her fingers and Sherlock knew it had been him who had invited her.

"Mr. Holmes." She gave a soft curtsy to Sherlock as she handed him her gift. He took it, but when he went to open it she stopped him. "Umm, you may not want to open that here." His curiosity picked up as he inched the top up and saw she had returned his riding crop.

"Giving a man something he already owns for his birthday, very American." Sherlock scoffed. She rolled her eyes and withdrew a smaller package from behind her back.

"You know I could keep this. It's very soft." She teased, but handed it to him all the same.

"I already have a scarf."

"And it's looking a bit weather beaten." She stated. He put it back in the box and set it with the others. "Wear it, don't wear it, either way, happy birthday."

"Thank you." He repeated the words John had taught him to say when given gifts. "May I ask what you're doing here?"

"I was invited."

"By?"

"Your brother." The two went to look at Mycroft who was now further up the ways, greeting guests still, making the two realize they had been alone the whole time. "I'm sorry, he invited me and I thought…"

"He wanted you to babysit me didn't he?"

"His exact words." She confirmed.

"I'm not a child." He scoffed.

"My exact words." There was a pause.

"Do you want to leave?" He finally asked. She glanced up confused.

"Well it's your party, do you want me to leave?"

"…you drove all the way out here."

"Cabs are still coming and going."

"Do you want to go?" He asked. She paused for a moment.

"…may I stay?"

"Fine." He nodded. "Do you know anyone here?"

"I know the Buchanan's from when their daughter was sick. Regretfully, I remember Sir Holton."

"Anyone you like?"

"…I like talking to you, even if you are an ass." She shrugged. He gave her a confused look.

"You have to admit, your people skills suck."

"…why would it matter if my social skills…suck, or not." He asked, the unfamiliar use of the word sounding strange now.

"Social skills matter. It's part of how we get along in the world."

"…I can tell you anything about yourself just by looking at you, why would we need to socialize?" He asked, glancing around the room and catching his mother's eyes. He grabbed Gwen's arm by reflex and started for a side parlor.

"Where are we…?"

"There is a rather unfavorable woman watching me, I prefer to stay out of the way of her." He explained, seeing his mother had lost his face in the crowd as he snuck himself and Gwen into a side parlor that was hardly ever used and shut off to the party. "I apologize." He started. "She's…desperate."

"Sherlock Holmes, the heartbreaker." Gwen rolled her eyes. Sherlock stared.

"You believe that?" She nodded. "Molly Hooper is attracted to me because I'm the only man she sees most of the time. This woman is…not interested in that sort of thing."

"Why do you feel you need to explain yourself?"

"Because you don't like me." He was actually surprised at his own words.

"I didn't say that."

"Your dress says so." He stated, as she sat down and waited for him to explain. "Women your age are hunting for men, they wear revealing clothing and bright attracting colors. They put their hair up to show off their necks, their shoes are easy to kick off, yours are strapped to your feet. Your dress is a dark blue corset back, not easy to come off." He went on. "I'm the only one you seem to socialize with, I doubt you talked to Mycroft long enough to consider yourselves acquainted. Therefore, knowing I would be here, you dressed not to impress, just to be."

"What else can you tell?" She asked, genuinely interested. He paused, aware of the trouble his deductions had gotten him in before, but the look on her face was impressed, so he continued.

"You have a puppy, probably a Shepard type. You're American, that's easy to see, but you're from the Western part due to your lack of any accent and your zero tolerance for childish antics in professional settings. You transferred from Upper London to Lower London because of the politics and stupidity of your job." She nodded when he paused. "Now, the touchy subject. You're single, have been for over a year now. I'd say no less than three sexual partners in that time, all of them one night stands, given your full lips I'd say you're either a sloppy kisser or you have to get drunk to sleep with these men. I know that last night you had one over that left you unsatisfied and you've been in a foul mood all day until your nerves started acting up when you got here. You are afraid of relationships, but you're human…you need to feel, you need sentimental touch to get you through your life. You're not addicted to it, you just enjoy being needed for a little while." The room fell silent and Sherlock saw the blush on Gwen's face as he sat down across form her. "Did I miss anything?"

"Yes."

She nodded and stood up to approach the man. When she came to loom over him she shoved his back to the sofa and pressed her lips to his. He was motionless for a moment as she let him grow accustomed to the situation. She began to press her lips against his gently, slowly nibbling at the bottom lip and working up her courage to slip her tongue over the part of his mouth. Sherlock was speechless at all the sensations taking place at that moment, intrigued by the skill behind such a silly task as kissing. She felt him jump a little, but other than that he was completely composed beneath her. She pulled away, her lipstick smeared a little on him as well as herself. She chuckled as she grabbed a tissue and dabbed it away.

"How's that for a sloppy kisser?" She teased. "I have to get drunk in order to even consider a one night stand, my morals aren't THAT deplorable."

"Yet, you're a stress drinker." His voice was hesitant.

"I'm also a cowgirl, I can hold my liquor." She stated, returning to her seat. She noted his mind drifting and she sat forward, draping her arms over her knees as she looked at the man. "What are you thinking right now, Sherlock Holmes?"

"…nothing important." He said hurriedly. She smirked.

"That couldn't have been your first kiss, could it?"

"Of course not." He stated defiantly, color leaking around his ears. "…just the first one I didn't see coming." He refused to meet her eyes now and she allowed herself to giggle slightly.

"You interest me, Holmes, and not many people do." She stood. "Consider that your extra birthday present." She shrugged. "Shouldn't we return to the party?"

"Not if I can avoid it." He slumped in his seat, mumbling to himself.

"I take it you don't like birthdays."

"Birthdays, please…why celebrate being born, as if no one else in the world had succeeded in such a thing." He growled. "I have half a mind to grab a cab now and go home."

"Why don't you?" She asked. He glanced up at her and she shrugged. "I'll join you if you like."

**Ok, not my best work, but gimme a break I was a little nervous! I hope you enjoyed our opening to the story, please stay tuned for the next! ~Ash**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sherlock Fanfiction**

**This is the Lemon Chapter. Remember, first mature fic, please be nice!**

**And here we go!**

**Stand by You**

Gwen Sutcliff couldn't believe what she was doing right now, riding in a cab next to an attractive man she had only met a little over a week ago helping him run away from his own birthday party. She actually smiled as the lights of the manor faded into the darkness behind the cab, leaving the two alone in the darkness of the backseat. Neither of them were sure of what to say as the cab rolled along, both happy for the darkness that made them both feel at least a little safe from the others prying eyes. Sherlock wasn't quite sure what to do now, he had been encouraged to run away from his own party, but he wasn't sure if he should have her dropped off at her home before he went home, if he should treat her to a meal, or if he should invite her over for a late visit. This wasn't like him; grabbing someone he barely knew and going on adventures with them…come to think of it that was basically how he and John became friends, wasn't it.

"Where do you live?" Gwen suddenly killed the silence. Sherlock thought about lying, but decided conversation wouldn't hurt.

"Baker street."

"I know it." She smiled. "They have a nice little café there, a couple of flats there too I think. Molly and I went once, she introduced me to a land lady there, Mrs. Hudson?"

"You remember her name so conveniently?" Sherlock was suddenly suspicious.

"It's the same as the New York river; you know…The Hudson River?" she asked. "Also it's the name of a character on one of my favorite kid's cartoons." She shrugged, a little embarrassed to share so much information. "I mostly remember because she offered me a flat, and I was considering it, but…I can't afford it right now. She even tried to give me a deal on it."

"You are in need of accommodations?" He asked, half-heartedly.

Sherlock might not admit it in voice, but had grown a bit lonely in the abandoned flat with just his skull and the violin to keep him company. Mrs. Hudson had started keeping her visits short due to his tantrums when there was nothing to do and John had only visited once since leaving, and only a short time at that when Mary called for something about the sink clogging. Molly had run out of things for him to study for her, Lestrade didn't always have a case, and with the loss of a blogger Sherlock wasn't as busy now. He was almost desperate to have someone around again, even if he was just going to ignore them, he needed someone to do things behind the scenes of his mind. He missed the small things that changed when he came back from his thoughts; a pile of folded laundry, a cup of chilly tea, dishes washed, even a sweater moved slightly. He just needed someone there. He needed an assistant to help him on cases and a friend to keep him entertained.

"I have a proposition for you." He finally offered. Gwen looked up suddenly. "I find myself in need of an assistant…and that just so happens to entitle a flat-mate."

"…assistant to what?"

"I'm a consulting detective, when the police are at their wits end, which is nearly every time, they call me." He explained. "I work best when I talk out loud, I am not a social man, and I have a tendency to play the violin when I think." He turned to her. "You'd be paid of course, for risking life and limb and such."

"…life and limb?" She asked. "Is your life really that exciting?"

"If you call that exciting." He sighed. "It can be very dull."

"…well, what would I be doing?"

"Helping me on cases, updating the blog, little bits of paperwork here, bit of errand-running there." He shrugged. "I really make it up as I go."

"…paid to live with you?" She stared at him a little confused, but she chuckled when he actually looked to be thinking about that. "And be your secretary?"

"Assistant." He corrected. She smirked, but nodded. "If you aren't interested…"

"As a matter a fact, I'm very interested." She smiled, her country lag peeking into her voice as she grew excited. "It sounds like the most exciting thing I could ever do." she paused a moment. "What about my clinic job…"

"My last assistant did a part time job to keep himself available to me as well as earn money to pay the rent."

"…so no, huh?"

"For you to be in charge of the trauma ward and available to work for me at the same time…you need to sleep sometime." He stated. "and I'm just as demanding as any hospital."

"…so I would have to give up six years of schooling to solve crimes with a mad man I've only met a week ago?" She asked.

"That's a sound assumption." He nodded.

She sighed, but thought deeply. She could get her retirement check and be able to help pay some of the rent right away. She wouldn't have to deal with people trying to stab her, women crying in her arms anymore, she wouldn't have to bear the burden of being an angel of mercy anymore. It was so tempting, but how would she explain to people that she gave up her life to work for this man? She was seriously considering rejecting it when the cab came to a stop at Baker street. He turned to her.

"…I feel I should ask you to come in." He stated. "Why would you need to come in though?" He was perplexed by his own thoughts as she smirked.

"Would it be easier if I asked if I could come up?" She asked.

"I never liked the easy way." He admitted, but he turned to look forward before handing the cabbie some money. "Would you like to come up, Miss Sutcliff?" He caught himself. "..to look at the flat I mean, you wouldn't want to move in and find you hate the place." He jumped out of the cab quickly. Gwen smiled as she followed and shook her head.

It was messier than she expected, but everything around her announced Sherlock's presence. Everything there seemed to fit the man perfectly, from a few experiments he had going to the dirty dishes he had piling up. She twirled around a bit, taking in the size of the place. She hated to admit it, but the mess aside, she loved the flat.

"Your room would be up there." Sherlock pointed to the stairs where John's room had been. "It's a bit small, but a good size for one person."

"…my dog?"

"Would be allowed to stay." He answered. She stared.

"Are you that desperate for an assistant, Mr. Holmes?" He scoffed.

"Desperate, why would you suggest such a thing?" He planted himself in a stuffy chair, watching her as she shrugged and approached him.

"I was just wondering if it was a flat mate you wanted, an assistant, or…" She smirked as she sat in front of him on the ottoman.

"Or what?"

"Well, you're all alone here." She shrugged as she slid her hand into his. He stared at the contact. "You sure you don't just want some companionship?"

"…I…I don't," He paused when he realized he was stuttering. "Why would I…why would you…that's not my area…I'm just…" He halted when he failed to create a single sane sentence.

"You talk too much." She smirked as she neared him, suddenly feeling braver at his stuttering. "and you think too fast."

"Why do….you say that?" he gulped at her proximity, not sure of what to do, but not sure he wanted it to end either. There was something tenacious and daring in her eyes that mesmerized him as her pupils dilated. He had seen women when they were aroused before, but never so close and never before had it infected him as well.

"Have you ever tried to be slow, gentle? Just ease into life?"

She asked, gracefully transferring herself from her seat on the ottoman to his lap. Sherlock wasn't even exactly sure how she had gotten there, but he wasn't sure he wanted to think about it right now. Her hands had crawled up to his shoulders, pushing him back to look up at her as she straddled his hips. He was suddenly aware of a hitch in his breathing as well as the fact her bust was moving faster with her own sudden breathing, and he found himself mesmerized by the way her breast rose and fell with each hurried breath. He heard her giggle as she moved a hand to stroke his long neck.

"Does the detective ever take a night off?"

"I…" He cleared his throat when he realized how raspy his voice had become. "I don't have time for a night off."

"Not even on your birthday?" She cocked her head to the right and he didn't know why but he found that amusing. "Would you take a night off now?"

"…for what reason?"

"Well, let's think for just a moment, look at where we are, where I am. Look at our body language, not just mine but yours too…and you tell me why."

"…you are aroused." He stated, his throat suddenly dry.

"You're not?" She asked with a sneaky smile as she leaned forward, her breast barely brushing the front of his shirt as she knelt to his ear. "I could fix that."

"…you're not drunk." He stated, still trying to kick start his thoughts. "what about those morals that you…" He stopped when she placed a kiss to his ear.

"You don't realize what you do to a girl, do you?' she asked, a slight giggle in her voice as she put another kiss at the corner of his jaw line. "Why don't we both stop thinking for a night."

"…this might change our working relationship." He stated. She smiled as she sat back up to meet his eyes.

"Oh? Can't work with someone you've slept with?"

"I never tried." It escaped him before he could take it back.

"Is Mr. Holmes inexperienced with the women?" Gwen teased as she began massaging his shoulders. He didn't answer, just watched her as she bit her lip and snapped open the first button on his shirt. "That's alright, I'm sure you're a fast learner." She winked.

"I know some…but I'm not…God, stop that!" He suddenly pulled her hands together to keep them off of his shoulders, the ever alluring motions keeping him from thinking straight. "We only just met."

"Yet you've already run away with me from your birthday party, asked me to work for and live with you, and invited me up to your flat." She summed up. "What's really bugging you, detective?"

"…you've been with four men." He found himself actually being honest.

"I'm clean if that's what you're…"

"No, it's not that…I've…I'm not…" Her eyes lit up softly, but excitedly. "I've been with one woman….and it was so long ago, I…"

"It's like riding a bike." She smiled, but leaned in near him. "Just more fun and a bit messier." The kiss was small, more of a peck at his lips for encouragement. "Do I hear a yes or a no?"

"Isn't it the man who asks that?"

"I've given you a green light, now I need one."

"…I am not fond of one night stands." He stated. She smiled and nodded agreement. "…and you've already said I have horrible people skills…don't ever feel like you can't…"

"Sherlock, are you asking me to go steady with you?"

"I think we should have some basic relationship in order for this to come to pass." He admitted.

"Hurry up," She whispered. "The more you talk, the worse it gets."

"The more I…"

"You have one of the most alluring voices I've ever heard and if it isn't moaning beneath me in the next five minutes, I'm taking you right here on this chair."

"Oh, yes, we…should move." He nodded, but he saw Gwen give a slight pout as she started to slid off him. He stood quickly, catching her in his arms as she gripped his shoulders and let out a small gasp of surprise as he took her down the hall to his room, shut the door, and threw himself down on the bed with her still over top of him.

"Impressive." Gwen smirked as she leaned forward onto the man's chest. "Well, as my sudden boyfriend I think you should know my tastes run in a different direction for every mood."

"I'd say when you are outside your comfort zone you suddenly become the dominant seductress out of mere nervous tendencies." He observed.

"You catch on quick."

She was tired of talking and no touching as she kissed him. He reacted to this kiss instantly, his lips pressed to hers fully, his hands suddenly going to her hips, his face pushed up to meet her lips as they fought for a moment. He was the first to open his mouth and she felt his tongue brush over her lips. She hastily replied by giving it access and introducing another fight for dominance. She was glad to let him win. Honestly when it came to kissing she was perfectly fine with just letting the other enjoy themselves, she especially loved how he nibbled at her lips, even full on biting them in hasty clumsy movements. She would never admit it, but Gwen Sutcliff loved a biter. She felt herself gasp unexpectedly as she felt her chest collide with his and her thighs seemed to part more to let her plaster herself to this man's front. Her hands had been on either side of his head, but she brought one to cup his cheek, her thumb sliding over his sharp cheekbones as his hands spread across her back, pulling her flush to him. Her left arm was bent so her elbow was supporting her as the other moved from cupping Sherlock's face to finishing unbuttoning his shirt. She had to pull away for a bit to get the buttons beneath her, but as she moved down she kissed the further exposed skin. She was fine with this for a while, a bare chested god-like man before her, a near virgin at that? This was heaven.

Sherlock sat up enough to toss the shirt to the side, but he didn't lay back down as he grabbed Gwen's face and yanked her up onto his lap to attack her mouth once again. She was complacent now, her dominance winding down the more high strung she became. She felt his hands at her back, surprisingly clever at the corset laces. Before she knew it the dress was loosened and ready to be tossed off at his discretion. He went for her jaw next, working his way down her neck as he yanked her back by her hair, the slight pain making her gasp, to gain more access till her back was arched so he could worship her neck she chuckled slightly and he hummed in question.

"Were you undressing me with your eyes, detective? You worked through those laces pretty fast."

"And if I were? Would you be complaining?" He mumbled against her skin.

"Not one bit." She breathed as he bit her pulse point gently and licked over it to sooth the annoyance.

"It's Sherlock." He mumbled. She giggled.

"I think you're supposed to say my name, detective."

"Then you'll say mine." He said in hurried breaths. He started to branch out to her shoulders, sliding the dress sleeved down as best he could and planting furious kisses to the exposed flesh.

"Pause." She called.

He looked at her quizzically, his face an unabashed mess of color and his lips slightly swollen form his work on her flesh. She yanked the dress up too quickly for him to properly react until she was sitting in his lap in just her undergarments. She wasn't sure what to call this expression, puzzlement or pure bewilderment? She winked at him, but his eyes weren't on her face anymore, they were travelling along every curve and slant of her body. In Gwen's mind she could have stood to lose another twenty pounds, her thighs were a bit too big for her liking, her butt was a bit too big, and her stomach had maybe an inch of extra blubber on it. Watching this man stare at her, knowing he was deducing her dietary habits, made her suddenly feel more ashamed than ever before as she laid her hands over her stomach, unlike most women who covered their chest. Sherlock was startled by her suddenly covering her flesh, he glanced up at her, nearly rolling his eyes at her vanity and pried her hands away from her. He took note that she obviously wasn't ashamed of the usual anatomy a woman hides, instead she was worried about her physical flaws. He stopped thinking entirely when she began stroking his chest again.

Her fingertips barely grazed his skin, making his body alight with goose bumps as her nails scrapped down his skin gently. She snuck kisses down his neck, causing him to look upwards and away from her body. He ran his hands from her hips down her thighs and was tossed from his moment of pleasure by a loud squeak as she suddenly plastered herself into his chest. He glanced down to see her face was dyed the most amusing shade of red as she apologized and started kissing his shoulder. He was interested now, and trailed his fingers up her sides, loving the way she wound her body tightly as she made little noises of surprise. He was full on smiling now as he right out targeted her ribs and loved how she writhed in his arms, trying to dislodge his hands as she giggled quietly at first and louder as he turned her on her side and attacked her from above.

"Stop…it." She begged, trying to hide her face from him, afraid he'd see what she'd hidden from other men.

"You're extremely ticklish." He observed. He stopped suddenly and pulled her hair from where it had fallen in her face to see her cheeks glowing, her pupils dilated to almost a speck in her eyes. "Interesting, you're aroused by this?"

"No." She turned her face. He dug his fingers into her thighs again and she wiggled away from his hand, but was trapped beneath him. He stopped and leaned over her, kissing her and nearly smirking at how pliant her lips were, or the way her legs slid against his.

He slid down her body, kissing her neck, her collar bones, planting a peck at the top of each breast. He smirked when she let out a sudden gasp and he slid his hand beneath her, intent on ridding her of more clothing. The bra clasp was near impossible to get off, he remembered the last time he'd fiddled with one his partner had given a loud sigh and pushed him off her to rid of it herself. He had hated that reaction and was hoping this time he could redeem himself, and not end up on the floor amidst his own hormone high.

"Here."

Gwen didn't shove him off, instead she placed her hands on his shoulders and he sat up, allowing her to do the same. She reached behind her and he was amazed by how quickly she had the horrible contraption undone. He would have to practice. She didn't toss the fabric away instead she left it on her shoulders so he could finish what he started. He was fine with this as he grabbed the straps and dragged it away from her body, too slowly for his own taste, but he didn't want her to think he was too eager. He could see why she wasn't embarrassed. She was above average size, but she carried herself nicely. He wasn't able to stare too long because she was getting impatient and wasn't afraid to show how eager she was as she placed his hand on her left breast. With a few fumbling motions he had her hands latched to his shoulder as he massaged her breast whilst trickling kisses down her neck. He didn't know when he had her laying on the bed beneath him again, but he stopped thinking and just acted as his kisses grew more fevering and he was kissing and licking at her breasts, even gently biting her a few times, which she seemed to like as she would let out a small, but delicious moan at each graze of his teeth.

He sensed himself getting impatient, her sounds making his blood pool in his trousers as he found himself detached from her body, but his fingers dancing around the waistline of her underwear. She sensed it, but she didn't pause like he did. She was in this for the long haul and wasn't going to let him ask her permission. She sat up quickly, her hands at the button of his pants. With a few fumbles and giggles from Gwen, he had lost his trousers and boxers in one go, making him suddenly a little self-conscious, though he'd never admit it. Gwen didn't throw him off by staring she simply started kissing his chest again, wounding her arms around him, hoping the familiar territory would soften the fact he was naked now. He didn't want soft, and that was apparent when he shoved her back on the mattress and in one quick blur the last of her undergarments were gone and she was just as bare as he. Unlike her, he had to stare, he had to deduce everything as it was unearthed to him. The attractive slope of her breast as she breathed harder, the lust glazing her eyes, the way her legs were open for him to occupy. What really caught him off guard was the fact he was making her blush. Four men, she shouldn't be blushing anymore, should she? Not so vividly anyway. Her blush had crept down her chest as well, bathing her neck in her own embarrassment.

"Sherlock." Her voice was faint at first, but he knew the tone. It was on the verge of begging him. Begging! He had hardly done anything yet, his hands were so unsure, but his mind was racing along as he watched her hands grip the sheets in her own desperation. He felt the same, but he wanted to watch what she would do. She let out a little moan of disapproval as she grabbed his hand and placed it on her stomach. "Please…stop staring." Her face was twisted now and it sent a shock to his member to know he was making her this frustrated. "…lock."

The name must have been lost in the way he made her squirm when he brushed her stomach muscles. She wasn't having this and she sat up suddenly, catching him off guard and turning him over beneath her. He was surprised he'd been so off guard and yet was mesmerized by the smoldering woman above him. His thoughts were caught off guard when their hips met suddenly, her intimacy meeting his own in such sudden contact that he let out a small sound he hoped didn't sound unflattering. She moved again, grinding her bare flesh against him as he threw his head back at the explosion of pleasure that rang in his mind. She felt her own pleasure pooling, but her mind was far ahead of her wanting only contact, wanting to be pounded into until the pleasure washed over her but knowing Sherlock needed a shove in that direction. He had his hands on her hips now, but he wasn't forcing her anywhere, he was just holding her for something to touch, his nails dug slightly into her side, but her thoughts were so high she didn't even feel the tickling sensation.

"Gwen." He didn't know how he managed the word as his mouth had been hanging open.

He said her name for the first time and it made her move faster, relieving the pressure in her stomach slightly, but the lust reared its head when Sherlock had her on her back again. She let out a low moan of frustration, but it turned into a squeak when his finger was suddenly tracing her intimately. She froze as he explored her core, all the while raining kisses on her neck. He managed to sneak a kiss to her lips, but it was cut off by a sudden moan when he plunged a single a finger inside her. Her back arched and her mouth fell open at the long slender digit moving inside her. Sherlock found her mouth again and a steady rhythm as they continued in their kiss. Adding a second digit had him swallowing her moans and that was such a brilliant experience he didn't even giver her time to relax before he started scissoring her for a third. She was trying to escape his lips to throw her head back, but he had brought his arm up to hold her hair so she couldn't escape him. Her legs were twitching now as he continued to move his fingers inside her. She wanted to say his name, to scream, but she had always been very good at silent orgasms, she hated being loud but at her core she knew she was a screamer and Sherlock Holmes seemed to be the one to bring that out in her. His fingers slid away suddenly, but she withheld her moan knowing something better was coming. Sherlock grabbed her hips and pulled them closer to him so her legs would be able to wrap around him, but he stalled suddenly. Gwen nearly growled in frustration as he looked at her curiously.

"Please just…"

"Keep your eyes open." He stated.

"What?"

She barely had the words out when he plunged into her. Her first instinct as usual was to throw her head back and shut her eyes as he began to move, making her core light with fire as if he'd just tossed a switch on.

"Open." He barked and her eyes flew open as her cheeks lit with fire. "Look at me."

"…w-why?" She managed behind the glorious full feeling bubbling around her.

"I want to…see." He stated, still moving. She would have rolled her eyes had he not brushed something very sensitive that made her yelp loudly, her eyes wide with surprise.

"Shit, do that…" She didn't have to finish, he was already aiming for the same spot and hit it dead on with every thrust. For a man who'd only done this once, he was very good at it. "Sher…" She moaned, unsure if she could get his whole name out before another loud moan escaped her. She didn't have to encourage him anymore than he was already. He sped up when he sensed her winding up and suddenly found her tossing her head back and forth, unsure of what she was trying to do. The sounds coming from her now were broken, desperate screams. He found that her every sound drove him on, but he remembered his first time the girl had been very upset when he came first, he had to hold back until she…

"Sherlock!" Gwen tossed her head back, interrupting his thoughts as she grabbed at his face, pulling him nearer. She kissed him, but it was hurried and sloppier than before, he found he didn't mind the extra slickness of her mouth, but was pleased to see she was still looking at him. Even as they kissed their eyes were locked, making him even more desperate to finish her off. He pulled away from her and drove into her harder and faster, making sure to hit the spot that mad her come undone beneath him. She let out a long moan as she neared her end. "Sher…"

She called again and he couldn't stop himself. They came together, to his surprise but relief. They rode out their last waves of pleasure until her hands fell from his shoulders to sprawl out around her in defeat. He caught himself on his elbows, aware he was putting weight on her hips but content she wasn't complaining. She moved her arm to drape over her stomach so he could roll over onto his side next to her. They were silent now, gulping in air as best they could as she turned to see Sherlock with his face turned into the bed, his cheeks painted a slight ting of pink. She giggled and he opened his eyes to see her watching him.

"You wanted to see?" she quirked an eyebrow.

"I have a near photographic memory. By seeing you like this it adds to further data should….this take place…again." He wasn't sure how to phrase it. He wanted to see her come undone because one, she was a bloody hot mess beneath him and two, he wanted to learn from it. He was ready for her to explode or something at being watched like that, almost like he felt he had been peeping on her, but she just giggled and rolled on her side towards him.

"No complaints here." She smiled and snuck a kiss to his forehead. He stared at her a moment.

"What do people usually do now?"

"Well, in my experience one of them leaves. What I'm told you're supposed to cuddle."

"Cuddle?" He stared almost in disgust.

"You don't know if you like it until you try it." She smirked at him. He groaned and rolled onto his back, allowing her to shimmy up next to him and rest her chin on his shoulder. He thought this would be a waste of time and started to let his thought tread to more important things when he felt her hand gliding over his torso. The motion was soothing and he found he did enjoy it, but he wasn't totally ready to give in as Gwen glued herself to his side. She turned to lay on her stomach, but still leaned on him, always touching him in some way, and he found he liked this better because he could see her and the marks he'd left on her neck that were sure to be full on bruises tomorrow. He reached up and lightly brushed one.

"Seems everyone will know what you were about tomorrow."

"Seems so."

"You're not going to hide them?"

"I will simply because some people think they look trashy." She put her hand over his. "But if they ask I won't lie." She paused. "Unless you want this kept to ourselves."

"…for the time being." He stated. "For right now, you're my secret."

He found he was wrapping his arms around her and he turned on his side towards her, burying his face between her shoulder and collar bone. He lightly kissed the top her breast, but was content to just nuzzle into her skin. She smirked at the affectionate motion combined with the possessive statement his sleepiness must have caused, but slid her hands over his back and massaged what she could reach until they both fell asleep.

**Please be nice! I have never written one before so I was really nervous about how it would go. I would love to know what you think though, that way I know if I should never ever think of touching another mature story again!**

**~Ash**


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